


Untitled

by palaisgarnier



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25364569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palaisgarnier/pseuds/palaisgarnier
Summary: The United States of America purchased property on Nantucket Island, as a reward for all the countless lives saved by bringing the tyranny of the National Social Party to a swifter than imagined end.I apologize that I'm slow writing this, I am renovating my house! Feel free to HMU on my tumblr by the same name.
Relationships: Hans Landa/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. I.

As the sinking sun reflected upon gray cedar shakes of the west-facing cottage, the summer wind tickled the white and pink peonies that surrounded the deep-set, wraparound porch. While he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, in this very moment he had to admit, even his own expectations had been shattered by the perfection of this evening. It was June of 1946, and in the months since he had arrived, the beach at Siasconset had been his own. Several cottages neighbored his along the bluff, with only a border of tall grasses between them and the white sand beach. Most of those cottages were uninhabited for at least eight months of the year. It was not until May or June that their owners would begin the annual migration from their homes in the urban centers of Boston, New York, and the Capital, to the seaside.

Aside from a particular Basterd, the Americans and OSS had made good on their side of the bargain. It had taken little to convince them that his affiliation with the SS was a matter of practicality and not conviction. He found the American military elite willing to turn a blind eye on Nazism, with their focus on a distain for the Japanese, as they gloated in their surrender after the fall of the Third Reich. He had been absolved of any implications that came with the territory, all in the presumption that his actions were done as a double-agent for the Allied Forces. As a decorated veteran, the home on Nantucket Island was simply the pièce de résistance, so to speak; something he had requested in jest, become reality.

Americans had a completely different idea of what was to be called humble, as the cottage could hardly be called that. It had four bedrooms for one, and the property itself was an acre of beachfront. Of course, he could not complain. Sipping on a freshly packed pipe, he leaned into his wicker chair as he admired the calm ocean. The sky was pink, “sailors delight,” he had heard it said.

“I’d wondered who they were saving this for…” A voice startled him from his pensive. He looked below to the laneway and saw a young woman upon a bicycle, holding her hand above her eyes like a salute as she smiled up at him.

“What ever do you mean?” He stood from his chair and responded with genuine intrigue. She was beautiful to say the least, with raven hair and the fairest skin, just like in the fairy tale.

“This house has been vacant for a few summers, but it’s always been kept so pristine. My parents and I joked that the government must have been keeping it for someone important. That someone must be you.” At this point she dismounted the bicycle, turning from him as she placed the kickstand on the ground. Her shorts were caught unreasonably high on her supple rear and he had look away quickly as she turned around again and placed her helmet in the basket behind the seat.

He chuckled, and she neared his front steps. “Well…I don’t know about that.”

She stared into his eyes for a moment with a fondness and familiarity he could not place. “Where are my manners… Eva Romeril, I live just down the bluffs, last house on your left.”

She held out her hand to shake his, “Hans Landa,” he replied, and when she heard his name she quickly removed her hand from his, placing her hands awkwardly in the pocket of her shorts

“Oh…you _are_ someone.” In that moment she had gone from exuding confidence and bordering on flirtatious, dare he say, to shy as a fawn. “I’ve read about you in the papers.”

Hans hesitated to respond, long enough for Eva to continue where she had stopped. “Good things, I mean. I just can’t imagine, how it all must have ended… and now here you are, standing right front of me.”

“Here I am…” he shrugged with wide arms, before placing his own hands in his pockets, mirroring her own. The moment of uneasiness between them had passed as quickly as it started. “Just a man, in the flesh.”

She sighed, “I’m sorry, I must come off as so dumbfounded. It’s just when I say I read about you, I mean I also wrote about you.”

“You wrote about me?” To say he was just intrigued by her at this point would have been foolish, she might have had his curiosity, but now she had his full attention.

“In my master’s thesis,” Eva explained, “I studied history, particularly empires – Ancient Rome, Napoleon…Germany.”

“Well, I’m not German, for that I can assure you.”

“No, you’re Austrian, correct?”

“You knew that already? I must say I’m impressed.”

Eva looked so bashful in response to the smirk on Hans’ face. It was the way his smile favored the left side of his face when he smirked. She looked down through her eyelashes. “There’s really no need to be impressed, I just read and write a lot. But I digress, you don’t want to know about that.”

Hans gauged her demeanor. Granted he wanted to know more, he knew if he were going to continue questioning her about what she knew about him, he would have to change the subject as not to be so direct. There was plenty of time for that, she did not trust him yet.

“How long have you lived on the island, Eva?” he asked.

“Forever, but not at all, I suppose.” Her hands left her pockets, and this point she was leaning against his porch.

“Please do sit down,” Hans did not miss a beat, he led her up the stairs to the four wicker seats and table he had been sitting at. His pipe remained placed on its side on the table, the tobacco embers still glowing with life. He pulled out the chair that was directly next to his, pushing the pipe further aside and clearing his throat.

She continued as she sat down, “Our house has been in the family for decades, it was my grandparents, now it’s my parents. My mother is in Boston and my father is in Montreal right now. I guess for all intents and purposes the house is mine, but I’m just here to get away from the heat of the city.”

“Montreal…” Hans leaned back as he had been, grasping for his pipe and gesturing, “do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He continued, “…parlez-vous francais?”

“Bien sur, I should have expected you to ask.” Eva sighed, “Oui, je parle en peu…mais pas bien.” She giggled. “Parler en francais est genant pour moi. Parler en français est gênant pour moi,” [ _Yes, I speak a bit but not well. Speaking in French is embarrassing for me.]_

“Pardon, I understand completely.” Hans toked on his pipe, “Years in France, and what I could grasp in written word, I could never keep up in conversation.”

“But your English is perfect. I must say.”

“Thank you, I’m lucky to be able to keep up with you.”

“Funny too.”

“And your parents…” His line of questioning was much more conversational than interrogative, he could tell he was doing well by her increasingly relaxed demeanor. But he still couldn’t get a read on her, when he asked about her studies she seemed shy, and when he asked about her house (a particularly grandiose estate he’d walked by a few times before), she seemed at ease, and her eyes sparkled.

“Professors.”

“Married?”

She smirked, “again, for all intents and purposes yes. I suppose I don’t pay attention to their relationship anymore.”

“And you’re an only child?”

“I’m far from a child, but yes, only.”

“But you’re not married?”

Eva smiled and scoffed, “You know, there’s a place between being a child and being married. Society has at least progressed thus far.” She watched his hands as he packed fresh tobacco into his pipe.

“I know, I know, I’m simply curious. Truly.” Hans sighed. It was dark out, and the warm evening was suddenly cool.

“Thank you for the talk, it really was a pleasure meeting you.” Eva stood from her seat, extending her hand to shake his again. When he stood to meet her and held her hand, she grasped it for a long moment. “I do have to get going, I went to the butchers to get meat for the dogs and you have me completely distracted.”

“Dogs?”

“Yes, two of them. I like to be alone up here, but not completely.”

“I can walk you home.”

“Only if you insist.” She smirked.

“I do insist, but I won’t impose.”

Eva was already at her bicycle, pulling out a cardigan from the basket next to brown paper bag and tying it over her shoulders. “Sure then.”

Eva’s house was no more than half a mile from his, you could see it clearly even though it was further back from the water than his. The cedar exterior was the same as his, somewhat darker and in turn more worn. All of the houses on the beach were of the same color palette, wood faded from the sun and wind. The house however was much larger, easily the size of the noble country manors in Europe. She leaned her bicycle beside the step, clutching the brown paper bag from the butchers under her arm.

“You can meet them, if you want,” she said as she stood in her doorway, hesitating before she opened her door. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He paused and stared at her. “The dogs, I mean,” she explained.

“Oh well, I’m sure I’ll manage,” he laughed, still not knowing what she meant.

Without further hesitation she opened the door, letting loose two massive Italian mastiffs. They easily outweighed him and their heads reached his chest, no sooner had they circled and sniffed him as he stood still in his place, they continued off the porch, running gracefully across the lawn and down to the beach below the property.

“I told you so,” Eva laughed, “everyone they meet has the same reaction.”

“I just didn’t expect it, they’re bigger than any dogs I’ve ever seen.”

“Romulus and Remus are no shepherd, they’re pure fighting stock, but looks can be deceiving.” From where they stood, Hans and Eva watched them joust playfully in the distance on the sand.

“And you named them after the founders of Rome?”

“Ironically, of course. I guess I just have to hope Romulus doesn’t kill his brother.” She smirked.

The door was open, and she stood halfway into her home, “Really, it was a pleasure meeting you. I should mention there is a party tomorrow night. Community gathering at the yacht club, the town throws it every June. I have to be there early because they guilted me into helping to set up, but you should come.”

She was forward, even bold, Hans had to admit. She wanted to see him again, that much was clear. He could certainly keep up, even with a woman so much younger than himself, he wasn’t that out of practice. “I’d hate to see you unaccompanied.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile; he could indeed keep up. “And that is why I’ll leave a ticket for you at the front. The dress code is casual…” She looked him up and down, “I’m sure you can pull it off.”

“Well then yes, of course.” He paused for a moment. “Goodnight then, Eva Romeril.”

“Goodnight, Hans Landa.”

He turned and walked down her steps, and turned back to her, “Your dogs?” He asked.

“They’ll be back. I told you, I went to the butchers.”

“Ah, goodnight then. Until tomorrow.”


	2. II.

  
As Hans walked back to his home, he could not help thinking of Eva with a certain excitement. He had admit, he was bored. He more than enough experience to know he wasn’t being presumptive in thinking she was interested in him. He also had to admit he was out of practice since he’d arrived in the United States.

  
After showering for as long as the hot water would allow, Hans moved suitcases and boxes aside in one of the vacant bedrooms, stopping at a black leather trunk. In Germany he had to been obligated to wear his uniform to every function, uniform that he had of course discarded. How glad he was that he had kept not one but several suits from the prewar nightlife of Berlin and Vienna - the only question he wavered on was whether or not they would still fit. He had filled out since the Thirties, and since his thirties, but had to give credit to his own narcissism for not allowing his waistline to grow amongst the company of the opulent ranks of the Third Reich. He had always considered irony of the Aryan aesthetic as imagined by such an obscure and rodent-like man as Goebbels, and further bastardized by pig-headed Göring. Though he noticed he looked somewhat different, he hadn’t lost any part of the appeal he carried as a younger man. The fashions hadn’t really changed, and one might argue he looked better now than ever. Alas, he’d save these for another evening, opting to place a linen shirt aside with tan trousers to take to the cleaners in the morning.

He’d frequented the cobbled main street in town for the essentials, having his fill of fresh seafood and fruit from the market, and buying up every book in the hole-in-the-wall bookshop nearby. The cleaners didn’t employ a proper tailor over the winter, so he was pleased to see that one had set up shop in the space adjacent to them in the spring. The Italian couple who owned the shop were especially hospitable and lived in the apartment above year-round. He normally could be in and have his clothing back within the hour, but as he approached the storefront that morning, he could see a line had formed.

Mr. Gianni spotted Hans before he even reached the door, “Ah, Mr. Landa, a pleasure to see you.” Every person in the line up turned to look at Hans as his name was spoken, and a clean-cut, blonde man in his thirties stepped forward.

“The Landa?”

“I suppose I am the Landa,” Hans replied in retort to being put on the spot by a stranger.

“What an honor, Colonel. Councillor James Ramsay.” His handshake was firm, perhaps overly eager.

“I am a Colonel no longer, just a pensioner enjoying the seaside.” Hans had been one to bask in attention for as long as he could remember, but since arriving in the United States he’d been trepidatious when his reputation proceeded him, for now his reputation was no longer one where he controlled the narrative. It seemed he could only be a hero or a villain in the eyes of people he met. Despite the nickname he had earned, and the congressional medal of honor, he considered himself to be neither. He was meticulous, cunning, and he would be the first to admit he was manipulative, but when fate reached out its hand, he took it. The rest, as far as he was concerned, was history.

“Well, an honor, nonetheless. Will we be seeing you tonight?” At the front of the line, Ramsay placed two linen and seersucker suits upon the desk, and Mr. Gianni ticketed and took them to the back of store.

“I suppose you will.”

“Splendid! Gianni, put Mr. Landa on my tab!” He took sunglasses from his collar and strode out of cleaners.

Hans placed his items on the desk in front of Mr. Gianni, “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” he said under his breath.  
“Ramsay has a habit of having everyone owe him a favor,” Mr. Gianni replied. He took Landa’s items and continued, “politics in Nantucket combine small town pettiness with big city ambition – it’s best to avoid.”

Gianni’s rhetoric was refreshing as he either had no idea of Landa’s reputation or he didn’t care. Had he lacked something to keep himself entertained, he might have considered Gianni’s warning as an invitation. Small town politics could prove amusing. Alas, he could think of better ways to occupy his time.

“I’ll have these ready for you in an hour.”

Hans had brought only a few things with him from Germany, one of these, a BMW 321 cabriolet that took months to arrive by ship. It was a necessity in Nantucket, as his home on the bluffs was a twenty-minute drive from the town. The Great Harbor Yacht Club tied the center of the town to the waterfront. It was already brimming with people when he arrived.

“Good evening. I’ve been told there was a ticket left here for me.” Two women with nearly identical haircuts and floral dresses greeted him just inside the doors of the grand hall. Only a few people mingled near scattered tables inside, and most of the guests had culminated underneath two massive white tents outside. “Landa…Hans.”

“Well of course,” both of the women smirked at one another, as the one who wasn’t speaking flipped through a box of envelops like a rolodex. She took an envelope out of the box, removing the ticket from the envelope and placing it aside. “Eva is just over there.” She gestured towards the first tent, where he saw Eva standing, champagne in hand, chatting to several other young women.

Her dress was form fitting, and even from a distance, he could see the sea-green of the fabric make her eyes stand out even more. Directly next to her, was a woman with dark hair and a violet dress. She could have been her sister but in contrast to Eva, who started beaming when she saw him walking towards them, the other woman’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. Eva placed her arm around the woman’s waist, mouthing something in her ear as she handed her the glass of champagne she’d been sipping and walked towards Hans. “Well good evening to you, Mister Landa.” She was beginning to make a habit of looking him up and down in an increasingly liberal manner.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh no, of course you weren’t, I was waiting for you.”

“Your friend didn’t look pleased to see me.” Hans looked from Eva again, to the group of women she had left behind her. Two of them were smirking and whispering, and the other remained staring in his direction with a scornful look on her face.

“Hannah is like a sister to me. She’s one of my best friends, the closest I have here.” Eva took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, passing one to Hans. She shook her head. “But I’m afraid our opinions differ when it comes to you…”

“Don’t spare any details for my sake, Eva, I’m sure I know what she’s thinking – as for you, I’m not so sure.”  
Eva led him from under the first tent, away from the crowd and towards the docks. “My thinking is only that the more I seek to learn, the less I actually understand. Nothing is ever black and white, and the war was no exception. I don’t believe in heroes and villains. What I do know for sure is that the United States remains to be no better than the fascists we condemn with such exuberance. So, to hear Hannah call you a Nazi is just all the more ridiculous.” Her arms were crossed, she seemed somewhat irritated, wincing when she said the word. “I suppose I can appreciate the irony of this idyllic, affluent, and all white party.” She looked back over the crowd, “I grew up with these people but over the years they seem more and more like strangers to me, and I’m more and more glad that my house is so far down the beach...”

She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes, and he just stared at her endearingly. “Continue…”

“And when it comes to you,” she beamed up at him as she sipped her champagne. “I’m thinking I’m very pleased to have met you, someone who I actually find quite interesting...”

“And why is that?”

“You know your reputation proceeds you here, at least for me. I just had no idea you’d be so dashing.”

“You flatter me.” He had to admit, he appreciated how bold she was. He never had to lead the conversation in his favor, she was always pushing one step ahead.

She kept eye contact, "I mean it."

“I can’t imagine what you’d find so interesting in this old man, you must have your pick of conquests here… and anywhere you go.” He meant it when he said she’d have her pick, but he also knew she couldn’t possibly imagine what he could do to her if she’d allow it.

“Oh, I know I have my pick,” Eva had been looking past him in the direction of the crowd. She turned to face him again for just a moment, her eyes narrowing as she took another sip of champagne. “And I’ve had my pick. That’s why I know exactly what I want now.”  
Hans looked in the direction she was facing. One of the women in the crowd of people to was waving her over.

“Hans, you’re not obligated to mingle but I’m afraid I have to for a bit. If you’d come with me, I’d like to continue this conversation later.” She winked.

Just like that, she had taken his arm again to lead him back to the tents. He was already burning from her suggestion. “You’re such a cocktease,” he said under his breath, in what could only be described as a growl. He wasn’t entirely sure she heard him, but she turned and stopped, staring back at him with the same intensity.

She smirked, and pulled his hand to her mouth, kissing the tip of his index finger. “And I tease rough,” she whispered, before turning again, and leading him back to the party.

“Eva, you have to introduce me.”

Eva cleared her throat, obviously just to be dramatic. “Helen, this is Hans Landa. Hans, this is Helen Ramsay.”

“Delighted,” the slender blonde held out her hand, and Hans obliged, kissing it. Eva smirked at the ridiculousness of the fact that Helen had actually held out her hand.

“This party is entirely Helen’s doing,” Eva continued.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Helen sounded genuine in saying so. “My James says he met you in town today,” Helen kept her attention on Hans.

“Ah yes, I did.” Of course, this would be the wife of the charming Councillor Ramsay, Hans thought. Although at any rate they looked more like siblings.

Eva sipped her champagne and giggled. “Did James let you in on his bid for mayor?”

“Eva! We were hoping to make that announcement tonight.” Helen blushed. Eva rolled her eyes. “Speak of the devil, there he is now.” James strode up to join the group, placing an arm around Helen’s waist, and kissing her cheek. Another man of equal stature and darker hair stood next to James. They both held an old fashioned in their right hand, the orange garnish hanging over the side.

“Landa, great to see you again,” James handed his drink to his wife and shook his hand again. “My associate, Porter Clifton.” Porter nodded, motioning his glass in a toast before sipping it.

Eva leaned into Hans’ ear, “do you want something harder?”

“Pardon?” He turned to respond.

“To drink…” She motioned to the nearby bar, “If you’ll excuse us,” she touched Helen’s shoulder, who looked after them.

Eva sighed as she leaned into the bar, capturing the attention of the young bartender “Joel, what’s your most dangerous concoction?”

“Nothing that I’m allowed serving here,” the boy laughed. “How about the Ward Eight?”

“Fine,” Eva sighed again, mirroring his laugh. “Two of those.” She turned to Hans who was standing to the right of her. She put her hand on his, “I know the socializing is tedious, I promise to make it up to you.” He took her hand.

“I have no complaints, Eva. And I’m no stranger to small talk at gatherings like these.” The bartender placed two martinis on the counter in front of them, each of them garnished with two skewered cherries.

“Proust.” Hans ushered.

“What are we ‘proust-ing’ too?” Eva touched her glass to his.

“To you, my dear,” Hans beamed.

Eva tilted her head and smiled, “I’ll allow it.” She blinked slowly. “Back to the torture.”

Porter Clifton leered at Eva as she seemed all too comfortable ignoring the gathering of Nantucket’s finest to give all her attention to Hans. “How the pendulum swings.” He laughed to himself, and everyone looked between Porter and Eva.

“Say what you want to say, Clifton.” Eva shot daggers across the group.

“It’s just funny.” Porter spoke up, his footing wavered, he was definitely drunk. “You go from the arms of a Jew, to the arms of the Jew Hunter.”

Hans felt Eva stiffen up next to him, but he couldn’t tell what part of what she said had bothered her.

Helen interjected, “Apologize to them both, Porter!”

“Oh please, spare me.” Eva was bothered but she didn’t let it show. “I don’t know what’s more revealing, your anti-Semitism or your in inability to take rejection.”

Helen laughed while James stared after Porter, who had no response to offer and staggered away from the group towards the bar.

“Well then,” Eva downed what remained of her Ward Eight (most of it), “Let’s quit while we’re ahead, shall we?”

“Of course, my dear.” Helen hugged Eva. “Hans, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Goodnight, everyone.”

Hans walked with Eva towards the Grand Hall. “What was Mr. Clifton referring to?”

“Thought you’d ask. Just an ex. Who as luck would have it, was Porter’s superior. There’s a story there, but I’ll tell you another time.”

“Don’t feel obligated to tell me,” Hans really never had to ask, he could piece things together enough on his own.

  
“Oh, I will, it’s a good story, even at my expense. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this.” Eva took off her heels and held them at her side.


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M for smut.

“I’ll drive you home,” Hans offered. But it was more of an assumption than an offer.

She walked ahead of him in the parking lot, directly to his car without hesitation and placing her shoes in the backseat.

“How did you know this was mine?” Hans unlocked and opened the door for her. He was standing right behind her and she brushed against him as she sat into the leather seat. 

“You expect me to believe the BMW convertible belongs to anyone else?” 

“You would have made a damn good detective,” he jested. He strode around the other side of the car and reached across her lap as he took sunglasses from the glove compartment. He put them on, looking at her for a moment with a grin, before backing out of the parking lot and taking the main street out to the highway. 

They were both silent during the drive. “The carriage house is around the side,” Eva finally spoke when they passed his house, and were nearing hers. “You can park inside if you’d like.”

“You have a plan...” Hans looked at her again, his token smirk taking her focus off his smouldering eyes. He took one hand off of the steering wheel and placed it behind her head as he backed into the driveway.

“Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be?” She didn’t wait for an answer as the car halted, and she opened the door to let him watch her walk away, barefooted to the carriage house. She pulled a lever on the side to unlatch the barn-style door and slid it open.

More of the property was revealed as he backed the car into the carriage house. Behind the house there was a sprawling terrace that carved gardens and a path down to a stone swimming pool and pool house. He left the car, taking her shoes from the backseat, and followed her towards the back porch. He was about ten paces behind her when Romulus and Remus came running from around the side of the house, directly to the beach.

“I’ll give you the grand tour -” She didn’t get to finish her sentence as immediately inside the door, he pushed her up against entrance to the butler’s pantry, kissing her with a ferocity that he had managed to keep under control all evening. She matched his intensity, running her hand through his hair, and holding his lips on hers as she moved her hand to grip the back of his neck.

She sighed when he stepped back just enough to stare into her eyes. “You couldn’t wait another moment, could you?” She smirked, biting her lower lip that looked swollen from that feverish moment.

“Not since the moment I met you last night.” 

Her eyes met his. “I just wouldn’t want you to think any less of me if I let you get what you want so soon.”

“Eva you’re exquisite, and you’re the only person I care to know on this island.”

“Oh, you’re good.” This time she kissed him. “You know exactly what to say, don’t you?” The hesitation she felt for a moment before was gone.

“I know exactly what to say, and how to say it in four languages.” His hands were on the small of her back, caressing the fabric of her dress, but mostly caressing her ass.

“Hmm.” She was about to laugh but stayed with just a smile, staring at him.

“I tease, truly. This is perfect, you are perfect.”

“I suppose you’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

“Always.” That was the truth. She eyed him for a moment, thinking.

“I want you to see the library upstairs, the bar is there too.” Eva was leading him by his hand again, he had to kick off his shoes several feet apart on floor as he kept up with her. 

Her house had white walls, accented with dark stained oak. Simple but timeless in such a large space. The wide staircase in the center of house led up to a generous landing, three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a study. 

“Impressive,” Hans exclaimed, as he eyed the two parallel walls in the library. They were stacked to the ceiling with books, some only accessible with the sliding ladders that were fastened to the shelves themselves.

“Three generations of academics, some with far too much time and money for their own good. There’s scotch and gin in the corner, you can help yourself,” she gestured to the Art Deco style bar cart in the corner, “I’m having a shower.” And with that Eva turned out of the room and headed across the hall to what he could only assume was her bedroom.

He sighed to himself and perused the shelves for a moment before stepping behind the massive desk that was fixed in the corner by a towering window. Stacks of books and papers sat adjacent to an Underwood typewriter. He sat in the chair, focusing his attention on several pages of typed and handwritten notes. It was in his nature to pry, but when he thought twice about it in that moment, he knew she had left the pages there for him to see. What caught his eye immediately were the pages titled Operation Kino. She hadn’t been kidding when she told him she’d written about him. Churchill had released an autobiography the previous year, he had bought himself out of curiosity but hadn’t bothered to open the first page. She’d clearly read it cover to cover, as the pages were creased and dog-eared. He flipped through them and found a newspaper clipping from London’s Evening Standard, reading The Curious Events of Operation Kino and Colonel Hans Landa, and featuring a small portrait of him in his SS uniform. 

“It’s all inconclusive. You could say I’ve hit a wall.” He was startled by her voice there at the doorway. She was wearing a silk slip and sheer kimono, and when he looked up she walked over to him. “Perhaps you could offer me some insight.” He would have been willing to tell a lot, the way she looked in that moment, but before he could respond she had already stepped behind the desk and straddled his lap on the chair. Her kiss matched the intensity he’d shown in the kitchen, and he slipped his tongue in her mouth, wanting to taste more and more of her. 

“Your bed,” he demanded through breaths and sighs. He felt her smile in the dark. She left his lap, not without lingering over his growing erection, pulling him up of the chair and across the hall. 

Her bedroom was massive. It had a fireplace and seating area separate from the plush king size bed. There was an ensuite bathroom and he could feel the steam still lingering from the shower. He took in the room but didn’t pause in doing so, giving her all his attention as he backed her onto her bed. As he stood between her legs, loosening his tie, she sat up on her knees, removing her kimono, and moving towards his belt. 

He grabbed her wrists at his waist, and whispered hoarsely in her ear, “Nein. We have all night. And I’m going to fuck you until you can no longer walk.” 

She willingly submitted to his words, and still holding her wrists, he laid her down on the pillows at the head of the bed. He began kissing a trail from her neck down her body. Caressing and kissing her thighs, he stopped momentarily to look up at her. 

“What are you stopping for?” She laughed through an exasperated sigh. 

“I want to see your face,” his eyes sparkled, as he placed his mouth on her, teasing her clit with his tongue for just a moment. He watched in satisfaction as she arched her back and moaned.

“Oh fuck, that’s not fair.” She hissed mid-sentence as he went down on her again. While this wasn’t a new experience for her, he obviously knew exactly what he was doing, pausing each time she edged towards climax, and making each touch of his mouth on her more euphoric than the last. She could keep up and basked in the pleasure he was giving her without being shy, her moans driving his hunger. 

At last he kissed her, his mouth and chin gleaming. She could taste herself on him. “You know,” she sighed, breathy between words, “I’ve been told I’m quite the talent, you should really let me show you.”

“And what do you mean by that?” He knew exactly what she meant. 

“I mean you really must appreciate what the French have given the world…” she was back at his belt as she whispered and planted wet kisses on his neck, “Democracy…existentialism…I seem to have inherited some of their finer offerings.” He knew where she was going with this, and not just because she already had his cock in her hand, stroking him with agonizing attention.

“Bitte,” he whispered.

“Please what?”’ She slowed her hand. 

He grabbed her under her chin, moving her lips to his again before pushing her head into his lap.

“Impatient,” she teased, as lowered herself between his legs. “Make your hand useful and hold my hair.”

He had to oblige that, holding her dark locks in a fist, and inhaling sharply as she finally began to take his cock in her mouth. It became clear to him that she hadn’t been bluffing, as he felt the back of her throat and immediately gasped. She kept going, her rhythm steady and her tongue incredible. He was embarrassed at his mounting orgasm, so in an effort to regain control, he pulled her up off him and pinned her to the sheets with his body weight. She was soaking, but so tight as he entered her. She hummed in pleasure, biting her swollen lips, and bucking her hips against him. With one hand she clutched his shoulder with such a grip that it would surely leave a bruise, and the other she cupped his cheek, her bright green eyes gazing directly into his. He slowed to make the most of the moment, and as he turned them on their side, she pushed him onto his back, mounting him and riding his cock. 

Fine, he thought to himself, she could have control.


End file.
